Auriferous days.
The field is turning into gold,
When man’s mind is becoming
More and
more drawn towards
The land
of gold
and cow,
Green
and fertility boom
and born
In the wombs of pastoral roots
Nourished by riches
and ancient customs .
Yet, the
desire for gold is unabated,
Seldom do the select
few realize
The toil behind
the fruits and fecundity.
Gold
land mocked the lazy, and decried,
Dry roots don’t
fetch bonanza,
Unless you
sweat, there wont be treat.
Grandma sits on the
mound,
Laughs, the
lads and ladies don’t
Begin and
belong to this
soil.
The
field is turning
into Gold.
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